


All that is solid melts into air

by Arokel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, But if the world is ending can there really be pre-anything, Gen, I mean really it's just very existential, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22928416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arokel/pseuds/Arokel
Summary: After the End, there is a brief return to the Beginning.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	All that is solid melts into air

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a maudlin mood lately and all the other things I'm supposed to be doing are very discouraging so... have this, I guess?

Aziraphale watches the rain sleeting over the grasslands, the shadow of the clouds over a single flickering point of light.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” he says.

Crowley follows Aziraphale’s gaze to that pinprick of fire, Aziraphale’s most enduring legacy.

“No.”

He falls silent, hushed by the susurrating rain, as if time has taken all his words with it. Then, as if thinking it through, he speaks, slowly. “So it ended six thousand years later than it would have otherwise. Not long, in the scheme of things. But – we had Shakespeare. We had Mozart. And we had cars and books and naps and sushi, and that’s got to be worth something. That’s got to be worth it all.”

The rain drums harder against Aziraphale’s wing, and Crowley inches closer. “And we had each other. We wouldn’t have had that.”

“I’ve always loved you,” Aziraphale admits, so soft it is nearly lost in the rush of the whirling breeze. He reaches for Crowley’s hand.

Crowley takes it. “You should have said.”

“The time never seemed right.”

“No,” Crowley says, not quite agreement, a quiet acknowledgment.

“I almost said it here,” Aziraphale continues, driven onwards by the warmth of Crowley’s hand in his and the water running tracks over their laced fingers, “but I didn’t know –“

“What it meant,” Crowley finishes.

Over the distant plain, the first peal of thunder crashes, echoing across millennia, and a shock of lightning throws into relief two figures, walking without a backwards glance into the wild unknown. Crowley’s hand in Aziraphale’s is solid and grounding.

“There are so many things I never got to do,” Aziraphale says. “But mostly – “

He trails off, and they keep their eyes fixed on the darkness where two humans still walk, the beginning of an inextricably intertwined destiny, the two of them, the four of them and all that came after. Crowley holds Aziraphale’s hand tighter.

“I wanted to kiss you, so many times,” he says.

Aziraphale smiles, though Crowley can’t see it. “Silly human notions.”

“But you still liked them.”

“I liked everything, when you were there.”

The darkness of the storm obscures the humans even to ethereal sight, and Crowley turns to watch Aziraphale instead. Aziraphale meets his gaze with still-smiling eyes. “Do you think we ever would have said it?”

Crowley smiles back. “Knowing us? Doubtful.”

“Then I’m glad we got to now.”

The rain soaks though Aziraphale’s wing, dotting Crowley’s dark hair like stars. Once, they built galaxies, perhaps together, before things first started to fall apart, before the beginning of the chain of events that culminated in this moment six thousand years ago.

Crowley shivers.

“Me too.”

Aziraphale takes a step closer, pressing them together side to side, their wet robes clinging, tying them to each other. Crowley might have been a snake, the first time, or he might have been a man, but he is neither now, and he melts into Aziraphale like they are one being.

“It isn’t their fault. Not really.”

“Nor ours.”

The lines are blurring, the rain turning everything to the grey before birth. Crowley shelters Aziraphale, and Aziraphale holds Crowley’s hand, and in the darkness, a child kicks for the first and final time.

“Whose side am I on?” asks one or both of them.

“Mine.”

The rain drowns out all sight, all sound, and two beings with bedraggled wings turn into the fading light of the west.


End file.
